


Cosmic Joke

by ravesinthesky



Category: South Park
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Kyman - Freeform, M/M, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 02:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21190142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravesinthesky/pseuds/ravesinthesky
Summary: Kyman One-Shot Soulmate AU





	Cosmic Joke

His reflection stares back at him; bags under his eyes, hair a mess (he didn’t have time to shower) and face miserably pale. Kyle looks like shit, and feels even worse. The redhead foolishly thought this moment would be... what. Enlightening? Maybe. 

But who was he kidding. The day Stan’s mark appeared, he and Wendy had a full on three day fight ending in an hour long screaming match during lunch because they didn’t match. Luckily, the two decided after a lengthy discussion, they they would stay together regardless. 

Kenny’s mark hadn’t even shown yet; his parents called him a ‘late bloomer’ like his dad, and he pretended he didn’t care. But Kyle could tell he secretly did. Nobody wanted to be stuck without a soulmate. 

And Cartman... well, he’s had his mark since freshman year. The first in their grade. They, as well as the whole school at this point, are very well acquainted with the dark splotchy mark on his wrist, akin to a tattoo. Unique in shape to only him, with the exception of a solitary matching mark on someone somewhere. The day it had appeared, he spared no expenses; smugly showing every single person he came across the mark. The mark that signified... yes, Eric Cartman did in fact have a soulmate somewhere. 

And Kyle was looking at him. 

He frowns, glaring at the mark on his forearm, right below his wrist, as if a particular intense look would make it magically disappear. He shakes his arm, like an etch-a-sketch. But, the mark remains of course. God damn it. 

This must be some kind of cosmic joke. A great big “Fuck You” to Kyle for all the times he’d done wrong in his life. Punishment for something. Or maybe this was just simply cruel irony. Last week wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. That was... it was an accident! The universe couldn’t have known. Right? That was a fluke! 

Kyle thinks back to last week. Cartman’s basement. Kenny was expected, but missing, as usual. Stan, stuck late at football practice. It had just been the two of them, watching The Breakfast Club (a movie that, when Kyle had admitted to never having seen it, caused quite an uproar) and sharing a blanket. It was an accident. He hadn’t meant to... to... 

Kyle scowls, throwing his hands up over his face. God DAMN it. This was all wrong! This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! But... there’s no denying it. The mark is there, as clear as day. And the bus was coming. 

-

“Hey dude, no offense, but uh... you don’t look so hot,” Stan says, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“Stomach bug,” Kyle manages to say, his face pale. They’re standing at the bus stop, alone. It’s late May, almost the end of the school year, and the sun peeks out from behind some clouds. Kyle’s sweltering under his long sleeve shirt, sweat already starting to collect on his sternum. 

“And I was like, no way in hell I’d let you use the good controller, bitch. Not on my Xbox.”

“Cartman, I know. I was there. That was me.” 

“Haha, I know. You’re such a bitch, Kenny.”

Even in the warm spring air, Kyle freezes as the two familiar voices approach. He’s staring straight ahead, face blank as he feels Kenny and Cartman assume their usual positions next to them. Kenny’s quietly shaking his head, parka hood down around his neck.

“Hippie. Ginger,” Cartman says nodding with a small smirk. 

“Sup, dudes,” Stan responds, then glances at Kyle, who’s uncharacteristically quiet. He must have misinterpreted Kyle’s glaring silence though, because he then pipes up in defense, “come on, Cartman. I thought you said you’d stop calling him that.” 

Cartman visibly rolls his eyes. “On occasion, Stan. On occasion. He does still have red hair, doesn’t? What am I gonna do? Lie? But fine, whatever.”

“God. Technically. I guess. But still,” Stan sighs uncomfortable, and glances nervously at Kyle again, who’s stony silence is louder than any words. 

In fact, the other two look at him as well, and Kyle bristles under their stare. He knows they’re expecting him to say something, but his mouth has turned to granite, so all he does is stand there, still staring straight ahead. 

Cartman’s smile falters for just a moment, just at the corners, but it’s enough that Kyle can see it out of the edges of his vision. Kyle also sees, as he moves to put his hands on his hips, the all too familiar inky black mark on his wrist. Kyle remains motionless. 

“So, asshole. What’s with the long sleeves? You finally go all emo like Stan?”

“I don’t do that, Cartman. Don’t be fucking stupid,” Stan speaks up, but he’s ignored. 

“Jesus Christ, Kyle. Seriously? What’s got your panties in a bunch today?” Cartman says, a bit more heated, fully frowning now. 

“Stomach bug.”

“Bullshit,” Cartman snaps back, hands still on his hips, scowling. 

Stan’s gone back to looking at his phone, mindlessly scrolling, when Kenny suddenly leans in between them, nudging Stan and cracking the tension. 

“Soooo, anyway. You guys excited for gym? It’s kickball,” he says, grinning and Stan immediately perks up. 

“Oh shit, dude, yeah! I totally forgot. Hell yes, it’s finally nice enough to play outside.” 

“Stan, there’s still snow on the ground,” Kyle replies, finally forming a full sentence, gaze straying to look at the two other boys. He purposefully avoids Cartman’s accusatory glare. Shit. Off to a great start. Wonderful. 

“Yeah, so?” Stan says shrugging. “It’s like, 60 degrees. And everybody knows that’s like, 80 in Colorado time.” 

“Temperature, Stan. You mean temperature, not time.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” 

-

Once the seniors are paraded out onto the dusty kickball field, they assume their positions for the game. Kyle hasn’t even gotten his turn to kick yet, and he’s already absolutely drenched in sweat. 

Whereas the other boys and girls have change into shorts and ratty T-shirts, Kyle’s still got his cargo pants and long sleeves on, and suffering for it. Maybe if he just barely moves, then... 

Kyle winces, feeling something collide with the back of his head. A small rock drops to the floor, and he nudges it with his foot. Then, another. Ow! And another! He shoots a look back behind him. A couple of kickers down in the line, Cartman is snickering with a handful of rocks. Kyle whips his head back around, trying to maintain composure. 

Luckily, Stan’s enough of a distraction; he’s got it in his head that you have to slide every time you get to the next base, regardless of which one he’s on. The resulting action is messy; spraying half defrosted mud everywhere every time he rounds the next base. 

Kyle groans as Stan sprints over to first, and with a big goofy grin, tilts his body and slides into the base, dousing the line of kickers with snow and dirt. The coach blows his whistle, the sound shrill, and Stan tosses his hands up in defense. Honestly though, the cold mud is sort of a relief from the sticky warmth under his shirt. The fabric is clinging to him, and there’s sweat building on his arms. 

“Nice going, dumbass. You got shit everywhere,” Kyle hears from behind him, and Jesus Christ, why is Cartman closer now?! The shorter boy must have cut in line during all of the confusion, because suddenly, he is right behind Kyle, inches from his back. Oh my god. 

Kyle doesn’t react, just stands there awkwardly, and listens to the coach chew Stan out for “wasting valuable school dirt.” Maybe if he doesn’t give Cartman any attention at all, he’ll just... go away. 

But of course, obviously, this is a horrible idea. Because Kyle should know as well as anyone else that the more Cartman is ignored, the more persistent he gets. He’s standing even closer now, right up beside Kyle, arms crossed and watching. Kenny’s by them too, but he’s got his phone out, thumbs twiddling on the keyboard while the coach is busy. 

He hears Cartman snicker loudly, purposefully, and then whisper something to Kenny, who glances over at Kyle and snorts. What the fuck. 

It’s at that point that Kyle makes the executive decision to react; it was becoming very clear to him that the less he responded, the more suspicious he seemed. So, sucking up his pride, Kyle looks back, eyes narrowed. 

“What’s so funny.” 

Instantly, Kyle knows he’s made a grave mistake. As soon the words leave his lips, Cartman breaks out into a huge cheeky grin, his face similar to that of a kid in a candy store. He looks positively gleeful, in the worst way possibly. Crap.

“Oh, nothing, Kyle,” he says, drawing out the redhead’s name in his usual lilt. “I was just saying you look extra gross today.”

“For the love of...” Kyle’s eyes flutter shut momentarily as he attempts to compose himself. “Fuck off, dude.” 

“I mean, I’m just saying. You’re literally so sweaty right now,” Cartman continues, eyebrows raised, pointing at Kyle’s face, then gesturing to his torso. “And seriously, what the fuck’s with the long sleeves. It’s hot as balls out.” 

“Why do you even care,” Kyle snaps back, swatting his hand around. “Literally nobody else cares.” 

Cartman’s smile slowly starts to fade as he realizes the other is reluctant to play along. “Okay, well now you’re actually starting to piss me off. What’s wrong with you?” he insists, reaching again for Kyle’s sleeve. 

“STOP!” Kyle stumbles back, yelling way louder than he had meant to, and his eyes grow wide. Cartman was staring at him, arm frozen, and eyebrows furrowed. Actually, the rest of the class was staring, too. The entire kicker line, umpire, Stan, Kenny, and even the coach, paused mid sentence with his finger in the air, were all staring at Kyle.

“Um,” he says, blinking. Fuck. “I... listen.” 

Nobody says anything. 

“Look, you just...” Kyle is finding it increasingly hard to muster up some kind of response, so he just stands there, mouth open, looking around. His heart is beating a little bit too hard against his chest, the sleeves of the shirt feeling way too constricting, and Jesus Christ, was it always this hot?! 

“I, uh.... I have to go.” 

And with that, accompanied by a cloud of dust, Kyle takes off down the field, sprinting towards the locker room entrance. 

The first one to speak is Stan, who blinks, watching him go. “Uh, guys? I’m starting to think something’s wrong with Kyle.”

“Oh, god damn it,” Cartman says, pinching his face in frustration. 

-

As soon as he’s safe and sound inside the locker room, Kyle shuts the door fairly hard, then slams his back against the painted wood. 

He lets out a deep sigh of relief, willing his stupid heart to stop beating so fast. That was close. Cartman had almost... fuck. He doesn’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if the other guy had yanked Kyle’s sleeve up even just a few inches. 

He can just imagine the look on Cartman’s face; smug, gloating, mean. He’d laugh at him in front of everyone. Kyle’s life would be over. It’s not like Kyle had much going for him as it is, but this? This would just be the fucking cherry on top. 

His eyes open, taking in the view of the empty locker room. The lights are off, and there’s that strange, mildew smell that seems to be permanently attached to the walls. But underlying that, with his arms up and graced against the door, Kyle gets a good whiff of himself and- yeah. Okay, he stinks. 

The sun had been beating down on him enough that even under the thin fabric of the shirt, he had sweat enough to definitely make a difference. And as gross as they were, the gym showers were looking mighty tempting. 

Kyle lowers an arm and glances at his phone; there’s still at least 20, or so minutes left of gym. If he goes fast, he’ll have time to wash off, get dressed, and make it to his next class. He’s got a calc test that he’d prefer not to miss. 

Kyle crosses his way over to the showers with their grimy plastic curtains. They honestly kind of disgust him, but he doesn’t dare use the open showers. Once inside, he peels off the shirt and sheds his pants, underwear, and socks, tossing the bundle of clothes on the low wooden shelf. He hangs his hat from a metal post on the wall, and steps in.

Unfortunately, he only gets to enjoy a precious few moments of cold water on his skin before he hears the locker room door swing open, and voices enter. 

“Dude, that’s was a fucking lame. Typical Stoley to ruin all the fun.”

“He slid into the outpost and broke his arm.”

“I know right? What an asshole.”

Kyle stops under the water, not moving a muscle as he hears his friends shuffle inside. Shit. Fuck. Not only were they back way too early, but they were back when he was in the worst possible situation. 

Kyle wants to turn the water off and slip his shirt back on, but by now, the rest of the senior boys were already well inside the locker room, and the last thing Kyle wants to do is draw any attention to himself. 

So, he stays put and waits. He waits until he’s heard the last of the shower heads turn off, and the chatter of boys die away. Now’s his chance! Kyle very carefully turns off the handle, and starts by slipping his pants back on, and then....

“What’s up, dude? Aren’t you coming?” 

“Naw, you go ahead. I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Whatever, man. See ya.”

What. 

Kyle can practically hear Kenny’s shrug, and then, he’s gone, footsteps fading as the door shuts. The redhead doesn’t dare peek out from behind the shower curtain. He’s stuck frozen against the back of the linoleum wall, cornered like a trapped animal. The water’s off, and he’s at least got his pants on, but his chest, and more importantly, his arms are dangerously exposed. 

Kyle strains his ears, listening as hard as can for any noises, but the room is quiet. Just as he thinks that maybe his luck hasn’t run out after all...

“I know you’re in there, Kyle.”

OH GOD. 

The redhead in question slams his eyes shut, fingers clawing at the tile behind him. But there’s no way out except for forward. 

“Give it up, dude. I can hear your breathing.” 

Fuck. It’s over. The jig is up. Rest In Peace. 

“Cartman, do you even realize how creepy that sounds?” 

“Okay, well. Um, wait, no. That’s not fair. Because, you know what’s actually creepy? Hiding in a shower. What are you doing in there, anyway? Oh my god, were you peeping on your friends, Kyle? You pervert,” he says, and through the frosted plastic, Kyle can see him just barely shake his head. “Disgusting.” 

“Oh my god... can’t you just shut up for, like five fucking seconds,” Kyle growls, heart thumping extra fast now. He eyes up his shirt, which is on the low wooden shelf next the the curtain. If only he could just reach out and grab it... 

“No. I can’t. Now, seriously. What is going on with you?” Cartman says, his voice soundly weirdly concerned. 

Kyle suddenly stops, and finally looks up; really looks at the curtain. He can see Cartman’s outline through the plastic, shoulders tense and arms crossed. 

“Nothing,” Kyle replies curtly. Short and to the point. He doesn’t want to give away much more.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it, Kyle. ‘Stomach bug.’ Yeah fucking right. At first I was like, okay yeah, maybe. Because that could probably be why you look all pale and stuff. But, why come to school? Then I was like, oh well, he has a calculus test, so that would make sense.”

Cartman’s good and rambling now. 

“Last time, you only got an 89% percent instead, so obviously you’d wanna do better, because you’re a fucking nerd. So, you’d come to school for that. But what I can’t figure out is... why the shirt? Why long sleeves? You’re smarter than that, Kyle. You wouldn’t wear a long sleeve shirt while sick in this weather. So. I call bullshit, Broflovski. I figured you out.” 

... Jesus Christ. 

“That’s... it’s none of your... dude!” Kyle says finally, a tone of desperation in his voice. 

Cartman’s gone silent. Kyle can still see the shorter boy’s silhouette, and he’s not moving. Oh god. No. Go back to saying stuff. Please, anything but this. 

“Kyle. Is this about last week.” 

OH GOD. OH NO.  
WAIT, NO. GO BACK, GO BACK. 

Kyle makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and almost straight up slips on the wet shower floor. 

“Oh no, oh god no, this isn’t... no.” 

Cartman pauses for a split second, and then says, “oh.” His voice is a rather bizarre mix of relief, and also confusion. 

“Uh, okay then. Well, what is it?” 

“This is seriously none of your-“

“Kyle, I swear to god if you say this isn’t any of my business one more fucking time, I’m gonna...”

“You’re gonna what, Cartman. You’re gonna what.” 

Bad move, Kyle. 

As soon as he says it, he knows he’s made another mistake. Obviously, Cartman takes this as a challenge, and immediately lunges himself at the curtain. Kyle screams, simultaneously wrestling with the clingy plastic, and also trying to push Cartman away from him, so he can’t see his arm. 

“No! Fuck off!” Kyle screeches, swatting at him, but the other guy is relentless. Finally, he rips the curtain back, grinning. 

“That, Kyle. That’s what I’m gonna do,” Cartman says smugly. 

But then his words trail off as his eyes wander further down. Kyle takes this moment to yank the plastic back, but it’s too late, and they both know it. 

For the briefest of moments, while Kyle was distracted enough to try and cover his bare chest, his forearms were exposed long enough for Cartman to catch a flash of the all too familiar mark above Kyle’s wrist.

“Wait... what,” he starts to say, eyebrows drawing together in confusing. He looks genuinely shocked. 

Fortunately, Kyle doesn’t give him much more of a chance to respond farther than that. He grabs his shirt off the shelf and tosses Cartman out of the way; pushing him and bolting for the door. 

Kyle doesn’t look back, just runs as fast as he can through the hall, down the stairs, and out the door, ignoring the looks of concern from his fellow classmates. He doesn’t stop running until he reaches his neighborhood. 

He doesn’t remember until he’s at his front porch that he’s left his hat behind. 

-

The sun had been beating down on Kyle’s unusually exposed head the whole way home, so stepping inside his cool, air conditioned house was instant relief. 

Thank god nobody was home; Ike should be at Hockey practice, his dad on a business trip, and he’s pretty sure his mom mentioned grocery shopping this morning. Peace and fucking quiet. 

Kyle sighs, loudly, and shuts the door. His phone had been ringing and buzzing off the hook the entire way back, and he didn’t even once look at it. Nope. He... he needs to lay down. 

But he barely has enough energy to make it up the stairs, so instead, Kyle collapses onto the living room couch, resting his phone on his stomach. It’s gone quiet, for now, and he’s thankful for that. 

“Ugh,” Kyle says out loud, to nobody in particular. Fuck. What the hell was he going to do now?! He was absolutely, royally fucked. Cartman’s probably told half the school by now about their matching marks. 

He wants to sleep; maybe a nap will somehow help clear his head. Figure out his next move. But even as he closes his eyes, and steadies his breathing, his heart is still racing. He still feels like his thoughts are sprinting laps, a mile a minute, in his brain. 

Sleeping seems futile at this point, so Kyle finally settles, and lets those thoughts wander. They roam freely as he thinks about what happened today; that confused, surprised look on Cartman’s face. The way he had let Kyle push by him, and run away. 

This leads to his brain going backwards, stumbling into last week. The night when they had watched The Breakfast Club together, under one of Cartman’s old blankets in his basement. The room had been bathed in darkness, all the lamps turned off. The only light, soft and muted, coming from the TV screen. 

The ending scene of the movie, Kyle had to admit, was pretty awesome. The way the actor playing John had put his fist up as the credits rolled. And Kyle had particularly liked Mary Ringwald’s character a lot. 

He was... emotional. Like he said, the ending had regrettably gotten to him; touched a nerve. Something raw and vulnerable. Things had been... weird between them the last couple of years, and being in that basement, alone, in the dark, feeling young, and unattached from reality had Kyle feeling on edge. 

So. Yeah. Maybe he had started it. 

Maybe, when Cartman was looking at him expectantly, waiting for his reaction to the movie, maybe Kyle had gotten a little too close. Touched Cartman’s face with one hand. Leaned in, and... 

...oh god, okay, so yes. Kyle had 100% started it. But, he didn’t... he hadn’t meant to... it wasn’t like he didn’t think about it... but there was no way... he couldn’t... 

He peeks his eyes open, and looks at the mark on his arm. There it is, in all its misshapen, inky black glory. 

Ugh. Kyle’s eyes flutter shut again, and his face scrunches up as he adjusts his position on the couch. This wasn’t working. God damn it. Not to mention his stupid phone keeps going off again. There’s a buzz against his belly, and an alert tone every few seconds. He should probably silence it, but he’s too scared to look. 

Fuck it.

Kyle opens his eyes all the way now, wincing at the sudden light, and sits up a bit; he tucks a pillow under his lower back, and scoots so he can look at his phone. Huh. He’s only got a couple texts from Stan, surprisingly. Both ask the same thing; where’d he go. 

There were also 2 missed calls from Stan, and a single voicemail. When Kyle listens to it, it’s again, just Stan asking where the hell he went. 

There’s 3 missed calls from Kenny, and 3 voicemails to match. Then, there’s a whopping 15 missed calls from Cartman, and... no texts. And no voicemails. 

Puzzled, Kyle blinks, and sits up some more. That was... weird. Listening to Kenny’s first two voicemails does nothing to help him figure out the situation. The first one sounds like a butt dial. But in the second one, Kyle can hear Kenny’s voice loud and clear, however he can also hear someone else faintly ranting in the background; it’s hard to tell, but he’s petty sure it’s a Cartman. 

“Kyle, dude. Where the fuck are you. Cartman won’t tell me what’s going on, but he’s freaking the fuck out. Seriously, it’s annoying. He won’t stop. Can you please just pick up the phone, and talk to him, or something.”

Kyle sits there dumbfounded. What the hell is going on? He’s almost too confused to listen to Kenny’s last voicemail. But, he does anyway, and pulls a throw pillow into his lap to squeeze while he listens. 

“Hey, Kyle. I’m sorry, dude. He’s coming. I told him not to, but you know how he is. So, uh. I guess heads up? Bye, dude. Text me.” 

What? Wait. Shit. SHIT. 

Kyle practically jumps off the couch, and the pillow goes flying as he hears the doorbell ring. Oh my god. Now? He’s doing this right now?! 

The door bell sounds off a few more times, as if whoever’s behind it keeps repeatedly jabbing their finger into the button. Kyle scrambles to stand up, and looks around, panicked. He’s got his long sleeves back on, but that hardly matters now that Cartman’s seen his mark. 

Speaking of Cartman, he’s knocking now. Loudly. And he can hear his muffled voice say, “Kyle, seriously. Open the door. I know you’re home.” 

Oh my god. He paces the living room, chewing the inside of his cheek, and tries to think. But, it’s hard to think with the incessant knocking, so finally, Kyle groans and opens the door just partially.

“What,” he snaps through the crack. 

The shorter boy is standing there, red faced and panting, clearly indicating he had actually run the whole way here after school. His eyebrows are furrowed, but instead of looking confused, or surprised, he just kind of looks pissed off. 

“Kyle, open the door.” 

“No.” 

Kyle’s still using the door as some kind of protection; shielding part of his face behind it. Kyle knows he’s being stubborn, but he can’t help it. 

“Kyle.” 

“No!” 

“Jesus Christ, Kyle!” Cartman snaps back, and closes his eyes until his own breathing subsides to a steady, and slow rate. Then, he opens his eyes again, calmer now. 

“Open the door... Please?” 

Kyle narrows his eyes slowly, then very carefully, nudges the door open a bit more; just enough so that he’s no longer hidden, but still enough that he can freely shut it again, just in case. 

“There. Happy? Now, what do you want.” 

Cartman’s mouth drops open, and he looks like he’s going to say something. But then, it shuts again as he stares at Kyle’s face intently. They maintain a steady staring contest between each other, neither one daring to look away. Then, finally, without breaking eye contact, Cartman speaks. 

“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours,” he says seriously, and thrusts his arm out. 

Kyle’s own jaw drops, and he blinks a few times. This is it. No more hiding. Not even a day, and Kyle had already been figured out. Damn, he’s good. He’s quiet for a while, still staring, and then... sighs. Checkmate. 

“Fine,” Kyle says quietly, and without looking, he reaches down and pulls the sleeve of his shirt up to the elbow, and lifts his arm. 

With their wrists next to each other, the resemblance is uncanny. They match. The marks are absolutely, impossibly identical in every way, and there’s no way around it. 

They stand there awkwardly for a few minutes, just looking at each other’s forearms, when Kyle goes to roll down his sleeve. 

“There. You saw it. Now, what else do you want from me,” he says, wanting to sound angry, even confident perhaps, but his voice just ends up sounding tired. 

Cartman’s breathing faster now, his eyes wide and still looking at his mark. Quickly, they flick upwards, focusing on Kyle’s face. He looks off for a moment; very un-Cartman like, and then his eyebrows scrunch up yet again. 

“Seriously, what do you want from me-“ Kyle starts to say, voice dipping into it’s own panic zone, but he’s suddenly interrupted again. 

“Last week. In my basement. Why did you kiss me.” 

Oh. Oh my god. Fuck. 

Kyle knew this was coming. Ever since the moment it had happened, the redhead had been mentally preparing himself. Practicing for what he would say. How he could defend himself. But, when the following week nothing had happened, he had let his guard down. 

Kyle had figured that if Cartman hadn’t told the whole school immediately, maybe he wasn’t going to at all? Maybe he wouldn’t even ask Kyle why he had done it, and then Kyle wouldn’t have to explain himself, or his... feelings. But, no. The big, fat cosmic joke on him had to continue, of course. There was still a punchline to come, and the universe doesn’t stop for no one. 

“I...” Kyle stutters as he speaks finally, his breath hitching in his throat. “I’m just...” He licks his lips, at a loss for words suddenly. The entire speech he had practiced over and over again gone out the window. 

Why did he? Because it had felt right in the moment? Because he wanted to? Because maybe, unconsciously, way deep down, Kyle didn’t need a mark to tell him what they both already knew.

Cartman’s looking at him expectantly, arms drawn back and stubbornly by his side. He looks so invested, and curious, and concerned, and frustrated, and a million other words that Kyle can’t think of, or comprehend. It’s almost too overwhelming. 

“Because I...” 

“You what.” 

“I just...” Kyle’s struggling. They’re in way too deep now, and it’s starting to get harder to breathe. 

“Spit it out, Kyle!” 

“Hey, that’s not fair! Why did you kiss back?” 

Cartman’s face immediately looks frightened, for just a split second, but then it’s gone; the only evidence left behind is a pink flush in his cheeks as he puffs them out. 

“That’s... Hey! Fuck you, I asked you first,” he demands, climbing a step up to get in Kyle’s face, and points at him. 

Kyle swats the finger out of his face, and scowls. This... he doesn’t want to do this outside, on the front porch, with the door wide open. They’re already arguing loud enough that the neighbors walking their dog across the street are giving them weird looks. 

“Fuck, just... come inside. Hurry up,” he says quickly, yanking the shorter boy into the living room, and slamming the door shut. 

“Uh, Kyle, what the fuck-“ 

Cartman’s immediately cut off as the boy opposite him turns around, grabs his shoulders and stares at him. 

“I’m gonna kiss you again. Um. Right now. Is that okay?” 

Cartman looks at him like he’s grown a second head; his eyebrows are twisted and mouth open slightly. He seems truly, genuinely shocked, sort of angry, and a whole lot of confused. And Kyle can read it all; he always was an open book. Cartman frowns, opens his mouth, closes it. Frowns again. Kyle can practically see the gears in his head turning, but his eyes instantly go blank when he finally speaks.

“Yes.” 

Kyle doesn’t have to be told twice. Before he dares start to regret this, he immediately pulls their faces close, and smushes their lips together, moving a hand up to support the shorter boy’s head. Cartman’s completely still; he doesn’t move a muscle, but then Kyle slowly feels him tilt his head, as a hand come up to thread through Kyle’s curls. 

Cartman tugs at his hair, yanking Kyle’s neck to get better accesses to his mouth as they kiss. The feeling is comfortably familiar; warm, intense, surprisingly soft, but the lights in the living room are on, and it’s bright, and even with his eyes closed, Kyle feels naked. Vulnerable. 

He notices Cartman’s other hand is holding Kyle’s forearm tightly, squeezing right over where the mark is, and it makes something in Kyle’s chest move.

Everything feels way too sensitive; his skin, his lips, the way Cartman’s pulling at his hair like he can’t get close enough. And then suddenly, they’re pulling apart, and Kyle’s just now realizing his heart is absolutely pounding in his chest. Every inch of him is alive, and he could swear he’s vibrating, like a piece of metal after it’s been struck.

“Okay, wow,” Cartman speaks up in disbelief once they’re apart. His eyes are huge, pupils blown and staring at Kyle, as if memorizing his features. One hand’s still clasped around Kyle’s wrist, the other untangles from his curls.

“Um. Yeah. Wow,” Kyle can only manages to repeat, his own eyes equally big. That felt nothing like the kiss from the basement. This was something else entirely new. 

“Do you, uh,” Cartman starts to say, but he almost seems at a loss for words. They’re staring at each other, and Kyle can’t seem to look away. He’s breathing in short bursts, his nostrils flared. He mentally tells himself to calm down. 

“Do you like, wanna go out sometime, or something?” Cartman finally says, almost shyly. Holy shit. 

Oh my god. He can’t believe... did he seriously just... Kyle’s mouth drops. 

“Are you... asking me out?” 

Cartman’s eyebrows dip, and he looks almost offended at the question. “What do you mean ‘am I asking you out.’ Jesus fucking Christ, Kyle. Make up your mind,” he snaps, breaking eye contact and crossing his arms. Whoops. 

The redhead stops. Fuck. He’s right. Cartman is... shit. He’s totally right, isn’t he. Kyle closes his mouth, and blinks. He needs to get himself together. Kyle’s pretty sure he knows what he wants now. Every doubt, every insecurity, every inkling in his brain that had said “run away and don’t look back” was completely blown away by what they had just done. 

Yeah, Cartman was an asshole. But coincidentally, he was also his soulmate. Surprised? Kyle wasn’t. Not anymore. 

Slowly, a small smile grew from his closed lips, that spread to his startlingly warm cheeks. “Um. Yeah, I guess that could be nice,” he teases back timidly.

“Yeah?” Cartman says, looking almost surprised for a split second, his eyes wide, before nodding. 

“Yeah.”

They stand in his living room awkwardly, still pushed close together. Even with the air conditioning, Kyle feels his body temperature rising. He can breathe a bit better, not as much tension, but there’s friction in his belly from the butterflies, and he doesn’t know whether to invited Cartman upstairs, or not. 

Luckily, he doesn’t have to make that decisions, because the boy in question leans up on his tippy toes suddenly, and plants a cheesy kiss on Kyle’s cheek. He snickers at Kyle’s stunned reaction, and says, “love this for us, but I actually need to go home. My mom’s probably freaking out, and I don’t want her to bitch at me.” 

Kyle blinks, and then mirrors Cartman’s previous nod. “Tell me about it.” He realizes his mom’s probably going to be home with the groceries any minute. 

“Yeah, you should probably go. Text me though, okay?” he offers. 

Cartman pauses, one last weird look on his face; part disbelief, a dash of skepticism, and just a hint of hopefulness. Then he gives a smirk. “Sure, whatever.”

And then he’s gone, leaving Kyle by himself in his living room, feeling less alone than he’s felt in years. He’s still standing there when he gets a notification on his phone. 1 New Text from Eric Cartman. Rolling his eyes, Kyle opens the message, and skims it.

“I’m home now. Oh, and btw? Please take an actual shower. You stink. ❤️”

He ogles at the tiny pixelated heart; half of Kyle thinks it’s being used ironically, and Cartman’s just trying to bait him into sending one back, so he can mock him. But half of him thinks behind every joke, there’s a bit of truth there. But he’s still not going to give him the potential satisfaction. So, he responds.

“Come over tomorrow?”

The three little dots indicating the receiving end of his invitation is typing. The dots stop suddenly, then start almost immediately again. He seems to be typing lot for quite a long time, and Kyle snickers, knowing he must’ve caught him off guard. The dots disappear, and he waits patiently for a few more minutes, until finally... 

“Yes.” 

This makes Kyle bust out another grin, and let out a barking laugh. He could almost see Cartman concentrating, writing and rewriting, trying to think of a witty reply. Hah. 

Seeing no other response needed, Kyle tucks his phone into his jean pocket, and sprints upstairs. He’s hoping to get in a quick shower before his mom comes home. Inside the bathroom, he pauses to momentarily to glance at the mirror, observing his reflection. 

Kyle’s reflection stares back at him; bags under his eyes, and hair a mess. Freckles dot his cheeks. He’s still pale under the fluorescent, yeah, but there’s a shy smile spreading now as he looks at himself, really looks, and grins.

He feels... enlightened.


End file.
